Regret
by madaboutcarla
Summary: Carla wonders if she made the right decision. Rated T for one swear word and reference to rape and sex.


Just wanted to write this one shot, regarding when Carla and Peter first slept together, it was such a shock to me, totally wasn't expecting it and looking back I still think it was too early and rushed.

Regret – She wonders if she's done the right thing

Sitting, alone on her plush couch, legs crossed, arms wrapped protectively round her chest, she thought back to the last few hours. She'd been so angry, let down and betrayed. The love she felt so fiercely for him was married strongly with a deep hatred, that he could promise her the world, and take her trust, only to twist the knife in and go back to this wife, smiling and laughing like he hadn't a care in the world. And yet, after all this, she'd forgiven him; she'd backed down, handing him the reins of power, and ended up in bed with him.

An hour later, he'd gone back to his wife and she was left to mill over what she'd done, what she now regretted so deeply.

Looking back, she knew why she done it, why she'd vulnerably whispered 'Come next door' only moments after she'd told him she hated him. She loved him. She'd spent so long building up a friendship with him, her feelings soon turning into love, and he'd been her lifeline during the hardest, most traumatic few months of her life, and then, out of blue he'd turned around and declared his love for her, telling her she was the only thing that mattered to him. It was too good to be true, literally.

As he'd apologized to her for not honouring his promises, assuring her that it was her he loved and that was the situation any different he'd be 'wining and dining' her heart took over and she'd found herself terrified that their relationship, their bond, sown together with the most delicate of thread could be torn apart at any time, and she weakened, handing her body over to him and taking a step she wasn't ready to take.

She knew part of it was a deep need to be loved, to be made love to. Frank had made sure he shattered her seductive, confident persona, crushing her trust and memories of loving, romantic sex, placing them with a violent, brutal scar, a mark that she'd never quite be able to shift from her mind. She didn't doubt Peter had been the right person to experience this with, and he'd been such a contrast to Frank, but something didn't feel right.

He'd been beyond loving, his touch exquisitely gentle and cautious, his kisses passionate without being forceful, his motions filling her with ecstasy and sheer delight, but the remnants from that fateful night were like shards of shrapnel lodged deep inside her; irrevocable and irreplaceable.

As he'd edged inside her, placing dozens reassuring kisses on her lips, entwining her hands in his, she couldn't help but be confronted by Franks menacing eyes, his callous smile followed closely by vicious hands that pummelled her body until she was too weak to fight back.

He'd paused, all too aware of the body trembling beneath him, asking her if she wanted to continue, only resuming when her hands had descended down his body to the small of his back and tugged him ever closer to her, determined to fight the ghost of a body abusing her that threatened to ruin Peter's attempts to heal her.

She hadn't been ready. Whilst making love to Peter had been incredible, she hadn't been able to forget, and it left her feeling pathetic, dirty and numb. Frank was still inside her; he was still brutally fucking her, the damage physical, the wounds mental.

Running her fingers her forearm, she wondered if waiting would have made a difference. Would she feel this way, feel like she'd made a mistake if they'd given it a bit more time. Allowed herself to adjust slowly rather than running before she could walk. She'd trusted Peter all along; he'd been the first man she'd allowed to stand before her after the rape, to touch her, to put his arm around her, to hold her, to kiss her and now to love her.

She leans forward, her hair falling over her shoulders as she inhales. She's weaker than she used to be, the old Carla would say no if she was unsure, wouldn't let love

overpower her independence, her confidence or her control. The old Carla wouldn't have let a man steal her body and abuse her. The old Carla wouldn't have been raped.


End file.
